Off to the Races
by bipolar broadway baker
Summary: (Arthur/Eames) Dom reunites the Inception team for a high profile extraction in New Orleans. But, it's connections to Arthur's past put the point man in a dangerous situation, and expose a whole new side of his life that even Eames was kept from. TW: SCARY THINGS HERE (specific tw for each chapter) Rating is subject to change.
1. Chapter 1

** Hello! As you can see, I've been spring cleaning. I'm on another Arthur/Eames kick, so have fun with this one. It won't be too long, I don't think. Unless I get massive feedback ;) ;).******

**Review if you want more!******

**I own nothing, and the title is from Lana Del Ray's song.******

**In this fic, Arthur and Eames are an established-but-private couple. Arthur is 28ish and Eames is about 33.******

**Enjoy!**

X

The pleasant tingle of warmth that comes with waking up on your own time never ceased to make Eames grin a little. He stretched luxuriously, but was careful not to wake the body still pressed to his side. Soft dark hair stroked at the stubble under his chin where Arthur's head rested on his chest and he lifted a hand, smoothing it across Arthur's hair. The point man shifted and leaned into the familiar, calloused weight of his hand and blinked lazily in the first moments of adjusting to the sun. It poured through the sheer curtains- a testament to how worn out they had been to sleep through the night without the heavy outer curtains drawn around the windows. Arthur stretched like a cat in the morning light, his ivory skin almost glowing as he settled back against Eames' side.

It had been almost a year since the Fischer job. The success of inception had swept every corner of the dreamwork community, and all of them were effectively famous for their achievement. Eames was the most sought after forger there was, Arthur's status as the best in his field was undisputed, Ariadne and Yusuf were getting calls for their services as well. Cobb was "retired"- but no one ever really retired in their business, dreams were an addiction that Dom was not immune to. That was why they were here, stateside in a ridiculously large hotel in the Deep South. Dom had a job for them.

"Morning" Arthur rasped, nuzzling into his chest and pressing a kiss there. It was incredible, the little thrill the point man could still give him, after these past years. Eames grinned, tugging Arthur up for a kiss.

"Good morning, my love." He murmured against the point man's curved lips. The younger man hummed against his mouth and Eames rubbed at the inherently tense muscles between the other man's shoulders. He ghosted a hand over Arthur's hip, and pecked his lips gently before letting Arthur roll away and get up for the day. He stretched again, but Eames was pretty sure that was a tease, watching miles and miles of ivory skin rise from the sheets and into the light.

"You're a vision, Darling." He crooned, speaking softly, like he didn't want the morning hush to break. "Come back to bed."

Arthur laughed and Eames could practically hear the eye roll in his voice "You're insatiable- we don't have time." He pushed his loose hair out of his eyes and turned to look at the forger. Eames threw off the sheets and walked over to the suitcase the younger man had been rummaging through, wrapping his arms around his waist, peppering kisses over the nape of his neck.

"What time do we have to be there?"

"... 5."

"And what time is it now, Darling?"

"10."

Eames smiled against the skin he'd just kissed, at the top notch of Arthur's spine. Arthur sighed and just leaned back into his chest, and the Englishman rubbed his thumbs in small circles over the other's hipbones. "Come back to bed..."

"I have to prepare for the job."

"We don't even know what it is yet."

He didn't want to admit just how much he was itching to get back in the game, after the ten month hiatus from dreams he and Arthur had taken when Cobb returned to his children. But Arthur, both missing his work and his friend, had their bags packed in less than an hour, and a flight booked for the next day, the second Cobb called. Eames was quietly glad for it, but it was the slightest bit suspicious that this client had contacted Cobb asking for the inception team specifically. He and Arthur had said as much over dinner the night before, both a bit jetlagged from the flight from Vienna and anxious about the meeting. Cobb disclosed nothing but the meeting place over the phone, saying that the job was legal, but highly secretive.

"Eames," Arthur exhaled, trying to make it sound like a warning, but coming out as a gasp when he squeezed a hand over the younger man's ass. "I'm still sore, Daniel."

"Is that a compliment or a complaint?" But Arthur couldn't respond, as his cellphone started buzzing on the hotel side table. He disentangled himself quickly and efficiently, but brushed his hand against Eames a little too lingeringly to be accidental.

"Hello. Have you landed? No, we got here last night- Dom, is there anything you can tell us about the job? You know how I am about going in blind- yeah. No, it's fine. Just a little suspicious." He nodded, biting his lip and looking worried but, for all his nakedness, looked as professional as wearing a three piece suit. He hung up a moment later. "I'm taking a shower-" he announced, not even looking at Eames as he collected his clothes and towel, but stopped at the threshold to the bathroom. "Well?" He threw a glance over his shoulder "Aren't you coming?"

Eames full on laughed, rushing to Arthur's side and pressing a kiss under his ear, ushering him into the bathroom and turning on the spray of water in the shower.

He'd never been quite so glad for his own strength, and Arthur's impressive flexibility.

X

"Darling, do we _have_ to?" He knew he was whining, but it was all in good fun. He just didn't want their past work-free ten months, and especially this day, to end. Arthur shot him a look from the bathroom door, the perfectly tailored trousers on, and a crisp white button down hanging from his shoulders, unbuttoned. The hickeys, lovingly bitten into his flawless skin, stuck out strikingly, more hidden with each fastened button. The point man rolled his eyes, but the fine edge of a smile curled his lips as he looked away from him.

"We have to be there in 45 minutes, and I don't know where we're going. We are NOT going to be late, Mr. Eames." A subtle pinstripe decorated the waistcoat Arthur shrugged on, and By God, he was lean. Not skinny, like when Eames first met him- new to the business and nothing but sinewy cords of muscle surrounding bone- but _lean_. He was strong and pointed and lethal. The waistcoat cinched in his waist and lay across his shoulders like a glove fitting fingers. Custom suits paid off when you wear them like Arthur. "Stop ogling me and get dressed." He laced up his shiny Italian shoes, hair gracefully gelled away from his face, like he always did for work. It looked odd, after so long off duty.

There was something off, though. It had flickered across his face for fleeting moments when they first booked the tickets, and first landed in New Orleans, but hadn't been there this morning. The set of his shoulders was more tense, and his temper seemed a little sharper. It was as noticeable as a smack in the face now, and Eames furrowed his brow and focused on the small tells that Arthur didn't know he had, and Eames had had to acquire the skill to find.

He was fiddling with his cuff links. He was tapping his foot and staring at his laptop screen like it was withholding some desperately important information. He had a crease in his forehead from his ponderous scowl, and his speech pattern almost sounded different. Maybe it was the southern twangs and accents of the natives all around them since they landed.

Eames got dressed quietly and efficiently, wearing his least "hideous" shirt. Arthur was still deep in thought when he finished.

"Darling."

No response.

"_Arthur._"

His head jerked up from the laptop, still unfocused and suddenly looking very tired. Eames frowned, and kneeled in front of the younger man where he sat on the bed.

"Are you alright?" He prodded gently, taking both of his lover's hands in his own. Arthur blushed to his ears, then, and Eames felt his heart break a little: they'd been together a long time. Was Arthur really actually embarrassed to show him some vulnerability? God knows Eames had over the years, and Arthur had had his moments, but they talked about them. They were there for each other to talk to and hold and -rarely and secretly- cry into. "Arthur, I'll never judge you. You know that."

He opened his mouth but nothing came out for a second "I- I- yeah, I know. I'm... Not okay. But, we're going to be late if we don't leave now. We'll talk after the meeting, okay?" He stood abruptly, and collected his phone and wallet on his way to the door. Eames trailed a little behind for a moment, catching up at the elevator.

Arthur looked pinched and stressed. To anyone else his expression would look vaguely displeased and largely blank, but Eames knew. Eames remembered every flashback he'd talked Arthur down from. His expression always looked a bit like that when he shook out of it and realized what had happened. Arthur hated pity, and the forger resolved to give him none, just like every other trouble he'd helped Arthur through.

The elevator door closed with a melodic ding, and Arthur took a tentative step closer to his side- after all their years together, Arthur had never been so shy. It was so out of character, so flagrantly and blatantly different. That was when he knew that this had to be different from the other times. He couldn't just break down and hold him in the middle of the elevator, though. He settled for taking his hand, sliding and intertwining their fingers.

A little tension drifted from Arthur's shoulders, and Eames counted a tiny victory. He could only hope that this job would help the point man's mood, and not hurt it. 


	2. Chapter 2

** Thanks for reviewing! Let me know what you think of this one, too!******

**So, my sister and I were watching old Disney movies- cuz we can and everyone loves Disney- and we were watching Robin Hood. I almost stopped breathing for a second- the voice of Robin sounds freakishly like Tom Hardy! That got me thinking of a Robin Hood AU and I can't get it out of my head, it's too adorable! :) thinking about maybe writing one, but I wanna pump a few more chapters of this one out first.******

**Tell me what you think! :)******

**WARNING: this story will start getting progressively more graphic, as Arthur's history is a grim place. Please be ready for anything at this point, other chapters will have specific warnings past this point.******

**Thank you. :)****  
**  
X

"Eames! Arthur!" The moment Arthur swung open the door of the vacant conference hall, a blur of brown waves and big eyes had slammed him into a hug. Eames watched Arthur's back tense for a long second before patting Ariadne's back and squeezing her tight. Arthur liked Ariadne, thought she was an asset to their work and a curious little thing. Eames found their texting friendship over the past ten months to be quite endearing, and he kissed the top of her head when she wrapped him in her arms.

"Thanks for coming, guys." Eames barely recognized the man before him. Cobb hadn't looked this relaxed, healthy, or _happy_ since the days working with Mal. The kids had worked wonders, and to see the real smile on Dom's face made his bitterness with the man dissipate a bit- but, they had still been drugged without their knowledge and almost plunged into limbo ten months ago, and Eames wasn't as successful as he was by forgiving and forgetting such things. Neither was Arthur. The point man hugged his friend, shaking his hand in greeting, but Eames couldn't help but notice the set in his posture. He'd glance at the door every so often, and Eames wanted to smooth a hand through his hair, break the gel and make Arthur relax.

His mood had only gotten worse. They had walked over, because Arthur said it would be easier to lose a potential tail. He was typically quite paranoid, always locking doors and changing passwords- it was actually quite endearing- but they didn't even know what this job /was/. The summer heat was oppressive, and Arthur was suspiciously sure of the way for someone who claimed to not know where they were going. The wreak of booze and jazz followed them like a shadow through the French Quarter. He kept Arthur talking- even got a couple short laughs out of him, of which he was very proud- and a hand on the small of his back. The humidity made the contact burn and sweat, but Arthur seemed slightly calmer with Eames' presence on him. He'd normally count a victory, but Arthur hated PDA. When they fell together years before, they agreed that anything they have should be a quiet affair, and only known by close friends and family. It was too dangerous for them to be too terribly forward about their relationship, in a business like theirs. That Arthur was uncomfortable enough for one of his biggest pet peeves to become a welcome comfort worried the forger.

What was it about Louisiana? Arthur hated the South- Eames had always expected bad family ties, knowing vaguely that his lover hailed from the region. Looking at him and listening to him talk, no one would ever suspect that he wasn't some posh trust fund baby with a military past and an estate on the east coast. But Arthur was a boy of the Deep South.

It hadn't made itself known til a few months into their unnamed relationship, but when Arthur got too stressed, too drunk, got fucked just right- his accent slipped. He regularly used little phrases that were only regional to the South- calling all soft drinks "coke" and saying "ma'am" with a Gone with the Wind type of air. Finally, it was too noticeable for Eames not to comment, and he quietly mentioned the topic in a blissful haze after a particularly accent-filled round in the sheets.

"Darling, where are you from?"

"What?" He'd looked blissed out, but wasn't vacant enough to simply answer what was normally such a closely guarded question. Rolling over and propping himself up on his hand to look Eames in the eye, he frowned a little.

"You develop a bit of an accent in bed, Love. It's happened a few other times but..." For a moment, he thought Arthur would call everything off right there, punch him or kill him for knowing too much, or something. He'd still been so mysterious back then, and seemed aloof or even cold, sometimes. Eames hadn't known just how much that composed mask covered up. He supposed he still didn't, looking at Arthur's blank expression, listening to Cobb now. The point man had sat up suddenly in bed, resting his back against the headboard and huffing out a long breath. Eames tried to backpedal "I'm sorry, I don't mean to-"

"No, no. It's okay. I-" he smiled wanly, looked over at him with a haunted type of gaze and smiled sadly. "You should know _something_ about me, it's only right."

Silence trailed in front of them for a long moment.

"I'm from Suffox." He mumbled, trying to curb the crackle of anxiety suddenly rolling off the point man in waves. He didn't mean to hit a nerve, but if he thought he should tell, then Eames should too. This should definitely go both ways. Arthur was right- they'd been together for too long to remain so enigmatic.

He smiled at the gesture "I'm from... I'm from the Southeast States." The twang of bayous and summer heat mingled in his accent now that he wasn't hiding it, and Eames proceeded to kiss him senseless. Arthur's little moans of "Daniel" in his real voice only made the forger hold him tighter.

He'd said he hid the accent for work, trying to stay as anonymous as possible. Just like he gelled his hair so it couldn't be used against him in a fight, and why he went by his first name instead of his surname. "How many Arthurs do you think live in the US? A surname can be traced through family, just Arthur can't."

He was a meticulous bastard, and it took years for Eames to fully realize that he was not only in a steady relationship and _living with_ said person, he was hopelessly and head over heels in love with him. But, there were some things that were never mentioned by unspoken agreement: Arthur's childhood and Eames' parents. Every now and again, it would come up in conversation, only to be gently skirted around by the other. Arthur would get a haunted look in his eye when it came to mind, and the forger always regretted whatever he'd said to make the point man look so helpless.

Eames didn't even have to say anything to prompt this bout of Arthur's reluctant remembering. He had to be from New Orleans, or somewhere local, nothing made him look quite so nervous as his past. He looked lost and just riding the line between anxiety and actual fear, standing there in cordial but strained conversation with Ariadne as they waited for their unknown fifth party.

"So who's this other fellow, Cobb?" He took a seat at the tired old conference table in the current abandoned headquarters. The arm he lazily wrapped around the back of Arthur's chair went unnoticed.

"Our employer- he won't be meeting us directly, I'm waiting for a call."

"Ah- and who is this mystical employer for this highly discomforting job?" _it better pay incredibly_ he mentally groused.

"He's a representative, working with the FBI on a-"

"We're working for the _government_?!" Well, now he knew it _wouldn't_ pay well.

"Eames-"

"No. Cobb, some of us didn't get our records wiped at the beginning of the year. I don't work with governments." It wasn't as bad as it sounded- most of his international arrest warrants were for unpaid parking tickets and trespassing and unlawful possession of a weapon, from jobs gone wrong. He just didn't like the orders and the attitudes and... Well, maybe he had a bit of a problem with authority. His hands were fists in his lap now, and Arthur quietly placed a hand over one, stroking the knuckles.

"Let's find out what the job is, first." He murmured, speaking like he was exhausted.

"Our contact is never gonna even see us, right? That's what you said earlier," Ariadne cut in "everything will be over the phone, and they'll never learn our real names."

"Right. They know mine, but that's how they contacted us. You're all completely anonymous." Cobb nodded, looking to Eames to continue. Begrudgingly, the forger gestured with a "go on" motion.

"Our mark is Nicolas Crestmore. He's an American business tycoon with a hand in pretty much every industry along the eastern seaboard and Gulf of Mexico. He's got extensive connections in Russia, and the Far and Middle East, as well." Cobb explained, and Eames belatedly noticed that Arthur's hand was shaking slightly. Clammy and tense. He looked up and the younger man's face was pinched and blank.

He turned his hand palm up, and cradled the other man's comfortably. He was surprised when Arthur gave it a squeeze.

"Nicolas is also a suspected leader of an international sex trafficking ring- working as a go between to ship slaves into and from America, Eastern Europe, and Southeast Asia. The FBI has been tailing him for years, but they need concrete evidence. They think, by extracting the names of the other leaders he works with, maybe they could get one of them to flip on the others." He spread out a manilla folder on the desk, with pictures and surveillance photos and reports dating back into the late '80s. Arthur was completely silent. "Now, our only job is to get the names, hand them over, and get out-"

The speaker phone on the desk started to ring.

Dom was about to pick up the line, but Ariadne cut in.

"Arthur, are you okay?" She looked worried, and Eames could feel the sudden panic flow through the hand he held under the table. "You look kinda flushed..."

"I'm fine" he started, and Eames could hear the strain of a lie in his voice, but for all purposes, he was putting up a good front. The forger gave his hand a squeeze. "I just... I'll tell you all later. Answer the phone, Dom."

"Hello."

"_Mr. Cobb. Are we ready for action?_" a sharp, business-like voice crackled down the line.

Arthur excused himself. The sweat on Eames' hand was suddenly cold and clammy. He felt his heart clench for seemingly no reason as Arthur hurried away, like something was about to go horribly wrong. He forced himself to stay in his seat and ignore the way Ariadne was trying to catch his gaze.

It was a few long minutes of governmental jargon and legalities before the forger couldn't take it anymore. He stood, his chair screeching a little on its way back. His heels clicked on the tile floor, and he turned the corner to find Arthur, crouched in the empty hall with his head between his knees and hands over his eyes.

"Arthur?" He whispered, walking faster, and going to put a hand on his shoulder when the point man jumped, and shot back up to standing. "It's just me- what's the matter?"

"I- Ea... _Daniel,_ he... The mark. I know him." 


	3. Chapter 3

** Hey again! Here's chapter three- or the continuation of chapter two, so it's pretty short. Review and tell me how you feel! :)******

**Enjoy******

**No warnings for this chapter: just some vague mentions of slavery. It isn't graphic or even slightly specific.****  
**  
X

"You _know_ him?" Eames couldn't wrap his brain around it, and Arthur just looked at the ground, his shiny Italian shoes catching the light. Tears glistened in his eyes, and the younger man just looked so ashamed. Eames felt his entire chest seize up, and he realized he didn't care how Arthur was associated with this guy. _just please, please be happy, be yourself again_. The forger cupped his jaw with both hands, forcing his gaze up, keeping his voice even only from years of practice. "If you don't want to take the job, we can leave right now." Arthur shook his head minutely, blinking the tears away and taking Eames' hands.

"I can't let him hurt anyone else- I thought he was dead, or else I would've... I would've done something a long time ago." His voice took in its usual, business-like resolve, that Eames hadn't really heard since they landed in New Orleans.

"Alright." He didn't want to, but Arthur looked more determined than frightened, and he knew there was no stopping him now. "We can't not tell Cobb and Ariadne, when do you want to do that?"

Somewhere in the distance, a speaker phone hung up.

"Right now" Arthur swallowed hard and went to walk down the hallway, but he stopped. Turning fast, he wrapped his arms around the forger's neck, holding him tight and pressing his face into his neck. "Don't freak out, okay?" He muttered, muffled against his neck. "It was a long time ago, and I'm fine. It's just a shock to be back here. _Don't freak out_." He pressed a kiss where his lips were and then stepped back, turning on his heel and walking into the other room.

X

"You _what_?!"

"I knew Nicolas Crestmore."

Cobb was staring incredulously at the point man, but Arthur looked him straight back in the eye. Ariadne was trying to get Eames to look at her, hoping he'd give them a little more information. But he knew about as much as they did.

Arthur wasn't _ridiculously_ secretive. He was private. He could relate to that, he was too. It was irritating to be denied information on certain occasions- when Arthur woke from a nightmare in the middle of the night, sometimes showering up to three times a day when he wasn't feeling well, staring into empty space and strange phone calls once a year. But Eames respected the boundary line- he'd tell him when he was ready.

He didn't seem to have a choice anymore.

Ariadne had that worried look again.

"When? Arthur, why didn't you say anything-?"

"I am now." He countered, voice carefully trained to be calm "I just found out he was our mark." Arthur met Dom's questioning look with an air of finality. They just stared each other down for a long second, before Arthur broke contact and sat down in a hard conference room chair. He looked so young and lost, and Eames stood protectively behind his chair, hoping the point man would know that he was trying to support him without saying anything.

"What should we do then?" Ariadne questioned, looking to Cobb for some kind of guidance. Eames restrained his scoff. Dom Cobb was a skilled extractor and a smart man, but he was no leader.

Arthur was the one that spoke up "We can still do the job."

"No, we can't. If he sees you you'll blow our cover-"

"I knew that man better than his own mother, I bet I still do. When we go under, I forge my younger self, play distraction while you get the names." Arthur proposed, but Cobb still had the purse lipped look of uncertainty. The point man sighed. "I have a couple contacts in the Black Kat- his brothel in the French Quarter. I can get us in for the job." Eames was getting an uncomfortable prickle of worry under his skin.

"I thought that big swanky place was a hotel." Ariadne said. Arthur nodded.

"All but the top five floors." there was a long silence.

"Arthur, what's your relation to Cr- this man?" He knew the answer as soon as Arthur dropped his eyes to the floor. Rage bubbled inside him- Crestmore was a leader of an international _sex trafficking ring_. Arthur had nightmares, Arthur compulsively showered, Arthur got a call from his contact in his old brothel once a year. He was from the Deep South and didn't like to talk about his childhood. "How old were you when you were...?" He couldn't say it. Suddenly, there was nothing more important than taking this asshole down. Arthur sighed and there was long silence.

"I was five, I think. I don't really remember." He sounded much less confident now, speaking softly and Eames put a hand on the younger man's shoulder, grounding himself as much as he was trying to comfort Arthur. He took a deep breath and ran his fingers across the back of the point man's neck _Don't freak out_. "Can we please not dwell on that, though? Just treat it like a regular job?"

Cobb frowned deeply, looking down for a moment before making up his mind. "Eames should be the one to forge it, he's more experienced."

"He doesn't know this guy- I remember everything about him, I just need to be a younger version of myself- Eames can't forge that, he didn't know me then." Arthur countered, getting more aggravated.

"He can learn- Arthur, you're not a forger-"

"No, I can do it! I've done it before, and I'm forging myself! It won't be difficult. This man did not treat me well- I'm not putting Eames in the line of fire, while not knowing what to expect."

Cobb exhaled heavily "You really think you can forge it?"

Arthur nodded "Eames has taught me some stuff, yeah." The forger stroked his thumb over the nape of Arthur's neck. Remembering the things he'd taught the point man about forging over the years.

"You'd need some brushing up, but that won't take long." He commented, and Cobb looked at the two of them for a long time.

"So, what're you thinking?" He sat down across from them, looking somber, but focusing on the task at hand. Eames could feel some tension release from Arthur's shoulders. He looked exhausted. "How's this job going to happen?"


	4. Chapter 4

** So, I totally expected this to be a little plot bunny... and then it became a plot lion. This is gonna be longer than I thought, my imagination is running away with me. I hope you like it, and review when you read, please! :) **

** Enjoy!**

** No warnings.**

Eames returned to the hotel in a numb sort of state. He was processing, painstakingly slowly, just what had happened to the young man walking a couple paces ahead of him. The forger stayed just close enough that he could reach out and touch the point man, but he didn't try. Arthur didn't seem to want him to.

His mind spun desperately in his head, picking up all the fractals of the story in the office building that night. Arthur's fleeting glances at the door, the pallor of his skin as he recognized the mark, how he shook in his arms when he confessed to him in the empty hallway. Eames placed piece after piece together, watching Arthur walk in the way he did when he needed to disappear in plain sight.

The hotel was a welcoming sight as it loomed in the near distance, cutting through the foggy, humid air of the bayou. It was going to rain- a full downpour. The atmosphere couldn't possibly fit any more pressure before it exploded with water and soaked everything. Like a call from a higher power, thunder clapped over them. Eames finally moved to walk beside the other man, not looking at each other, but staying in step. Arthur looked stony and tired.

The clouds opened up. Arthur stopped and looked up with a muttered "_shit_", wiping his face against the sudden onslaught of water. He seemed upset, but he still stood there, turning his face into the spray and shivering lightly as his hair was washed away from its gel and his- no doubt, very expensive- suit was soaked through. Eames just stared, not wanting to pull his lover away from this moment of relative calm. But he did. Because he knew, once Arthur came back to himself, he'd be pissed at ruining a perfectly good suit.

"Come along, love." He whispered, barely heard over the rain and gently touched a hand to Arthur's back. The point man jumped at the touch, but Eames didn't withdraw, looking Arthur in the eyes for the first time all night. There were tears brimming them, but he never would've known if he hadn't trained himself to find Arthur's minute expression changes. He didn't mention them, biting the inside of his cheek to distract himself from whatever this situation was, and wrapped his arm around Arthur's waist.

The hotel room was cold with heavy, recirculated air and stepping in, Eames saw that the maid had been through. The evidence of that morning was gone, and he wasn't quite sure why that made his chest ache like it did. Arthur had smiled, and joked, and laughed. He'd been working off the last fumes of Vienna, and he had glowed with it.

Now, he stood in the orange light of the outside street lamps, pulling off his soaked waistcoat and staring at his hands like they were someone else's. He gave off an air of exhaustion, peeling off his button down and breathing with carefully controlled breaths.

The hickeys were still there. Eames could remember sucking each one into the soft skin, and Arthur wriggled breathlessly under him. Now, they looked darker, just bruises with no love in them, and everything seemed to slam him at once.

Arthur was a /slave/. He'd been trafficked overseas and uprooted from his mother and father as a toddler, and sold to a filthy man. A man who'd raised him to be a toy in his brothel, and used him, beat him, /raped/ him, for years. The small bruises looked so angry now, and Arthur looked so much smaller. Eames shook, and he opened his mouth several times, trying to say _anything_ over the whir of the air conditioner. All he could think about was the face of their mark in his file, looking perfectly innocent while dictating the futures of human merchandise.

He wanted to kill Nicholas Crestmore. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to hold Arthur close until he started acting like himself again.

"Stop staring, Mr. Eames."

"This plan is exceedingly dangerous, Arthur." He couldn't put it any more delicately. Even Ariadne could tell how reckless it was, and how unstable it could make even their unflappable point man.

The younger man sighed heavily, wearing nothing but soaked trousers and his dark hair flopping over his eyes. He glared daggers, but those stopped working on the forger years ago. He kept a carefully concerned expression, knowing if he looked too worried, Arthur would be angry. He hated anything even vaguely resembling pity. Eames thought he might understand the reasoning behind that a little more now.

"I know you _can_ do it, I'm just not sold on if we _should_-"

"You don't think this bastard should be brought to justice?" Oh bugger "Eames, I don't want to do this- I have to. My contacts in town told me he was gone- out of the states, or dead, or something- but he's not. There are probably thousands of people in Crestmore's system right now. And I can get them out before it gets bad... For some of them, at least." He stripped out of his trousers and slipped on a pair of jeans- Eames', and they slid on the point man's hips, but Arthur didn't seem to notice. There were more important things.

"Darling,-"

"I have to make some phone calls." The balcony door slammed.

X

Eames was barely holding his head up. He was exhausted, and the tiny, rotating fans did nothing but push around the soupy air. Arthur was in the hall of the office building, having left with phone in hand a few moments before, not making eye contact with anyone.

Arthur hadn't come to bed last night. He sat on the covered balcony out of the rain, making phone calls, tapping away on his laptop, and, occasionally just staring into space. Eames had waited and waited, but the point man worked into the early hours of the morning. He refused all prompts to come to bed, dismissing him with a shortness that hadn't been used since before they were any more than coworkers. Eames fell asleep with his heart still stinging.

Ariadne stared, curious and rather obnoxious, at the both of them. She was blatantly interested in them- Arthur's situation, Eames' involvement, the relationship made obvious by their closeness last night. Cobb knew about them, he and Mal were the first ones told, but Ariadne was just a young girl, one foot still out of the business and a nose that could get into anything. Eames typically loved her desire and quest for knowledge, but the tiredness, the ego blow of Arthur's regression into professionalism, and Ariadne's inability to reign in her pitying looks, made Eames prickle with irritation.

And then there was Cobb. The great Dom Cobb, who was humoring Arthur's fragile plan. A particularly malicious part of Eames' brain thought Cobb was watching for failure, and using Arthur as an experiment of mental stability. It was preposterous, of course. Cobb loved Arthur as family, something that mostly came from Mal, but remained strong, nonetheless. He wouldn't hurt their point man, not now he was in his right mind again.

Cobb watched as closely as Ariadne, just hidden a bit better. Arthur was wired and hyper-vigilant, throwing himself into his work. Everyone was nervous for him. But Arthur was going to snap under all this coddling and walking on egg shells, and he knew that all of them were just waiting for him to fall apart. So Eames tried to focus on his work, give his lover some privacy. But, they had to be briefed by Arthur. This job all had to be run by him if it was going to work. Arthur's memory was where they'd be dreaming, and- especially in such a violent part of his memory- that was what made this dangerous. Arthur could get lost, lose his reality. And it could happen so easily.

Eames shook his head and looked down at the file on his desk as Arthur returned. He expected the silent treatment. The other man arrived at his desk, however, looking just as expressionless and alone as before, but he placed a gun callused hand softly over his. Eames' heart leapt. There was hope in this.

"I have to run, see some old friends and gather intel. We might even need them for the job- will you come with me?"

In all their years of knowing each other- almost a decade- the forger could count on one hand the times that Arthur came off timid. The hand over his was sweaty and warm, and the tiredness in his eyes made Eames want to coo and coddle and he restrained himself from taking Arthur right back to the hotel and taking a nap. He smiled encouragingly to the point man, showing that their unspoken apology was accepted.

"Lead the way, darling."

X

"I want her to meet someone else on the team before I ask her to commit to anything- this is a big deal for her." Arthur explained, speaking for the first time as he held the door open for Eames. "It's been a long time, so brace yourself."

The bar was smoky, cool and dark. It was an upscale establishment, with polished wood and crystal glasses that reflected the shafts of sunlight that shone through. There was a smattering of people hunched over the bar, but not many- it was barely noon. But there was a steady lunch crowd, and Arthur gave him a tight smile when he met his eye. The point man walked ahead, his shoes clicking on the tile, and Eames followed him to the long oak bar. Arthur shifted his feet nervously, leaning against the wood, and the forger was about to ask what the hell was happening, when a woman squealed.

"_BABY_!" the bartender cried, echoing and drawing uncomfortable eyes from the tables "Daisy, cover me?" She nodded to her friend- clearly on her break- who slid to her place behind the bar, while the other smiled in thanks and slapped down her polishing rag before sliding out under the bar and bee lining for Arthur. The point man looked more than appropriately sheepish.

"Shut up, Char" he mumbled, but still wrapped his arms around her when the petite woman slammed into him. She didn't even seem to notice him, standing behind Arthur. "Didn't we agree this would be discreet?" Eames could barely hear Arthur over the din of the lunch crowd, but the girl- Char- smiled apologetically, and lifted a hand to his cheek.

"Sorry, I just... It's been a while, Arthur." She smiled, and her light southern drawl sounded a lot like Arthur- in his relaxed moments. Eames smiled to himself a little, and the girl looked over at him. A perfectly tweezed and penciled brow shot up and she looked him up and down. He felt a bit naked, and shuffled his feet. She grinned. "Let's get outta here."

By the time they were out of the bar, the girl was grinning and Arthur looked tired, but he was almost _smiling_, and that was something. Eames felt a little lighter, seeing them together. You'd think he'd be jealous, and usually he would be. He'd be pissed and territorial and wouldn't leave Arthur's side for longer than a second. But, it'd been too long for him to not trust the point man implicitly- at least in matters of his sexuality. The girl wasn't even particularly beautiful. She was good looking, definitely, but the scar running across her dark skinned cheek was slightly off-putting.

Then again, he was horribly biased.

Arthur didn't seem bothered by it, and, otherwise, she was lovely, but Eames found himself staring at the long cut a couple times. He tried to focus on their words instead.

"So, who's the man candy?" He pretended he couldn't hear, walking a few steps behind the two. Arthur turned around, though, and grabbed his hand- something that came as a complete surprise. They stopped at a small park, and he was finally face to face with the mysterious little woman who knew his... his _Arthur_ so well.

"Charity, this is Mr. Eames. Eames, this is Charity Montgomery." He introduced, rushed and vague. Eames cocked a brow at his point man before sticking out the hand that wasn't in Arthur's, offering it to the woman.

"Pleasure. And, how do you know each other?" He was being a bit of a jerk, but if Arthur wouldn't tell him, he'd get the information on his own. The last time the point man hid something from him, it turned out to be his entire childhood and adolescence spent in sex slavery.

"I could ask you the same thing, Mr. Eames." Charity fired back, shaking his hand with a smirk.

"Sounds like we need to swap stories." He wasn't sure if he liked this girl yet. But Arthur seemed to like her, seemed to be close. He'd deal with it, for Arthur.

"Everybody calm down. I'll explain everything, I just..." His voice was steady, but his hand trembled in Eames'. He squeezed it gently and caught Arthur's eye. He smiled encouragingly, not caring that Charity's eyes were following his every move. "We need somewhere more private."

"My place is free." Charity looked between the two of them, and their still-clasped hands. "You've got some beans to spill, Pretty Boy." 


End file.
